


The Wine-Dark Sea

by Ren



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Navy, F/F, Gratuitous French, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Death, Minor Injuries, YOI Nautical Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 01:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: So far the prisoner had offered them little more than his name and rank. If Viktor hadn't known any better, he would have thought the man was afraid. But the man standing meekly in front of them was the same one who'd fought them like a fury when his ship had been boarded.In the early 19th Century, Viktor and Yuuri are captains of two enemy ships. Dashing uniforms! Naval battles! Girls disguised as boys! And romance! Lots of romance!





	The Wine-Dark Sea

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the _YOI Nautical Zine_. I'm very proud to have been part of such a great project, the mods and all my fellow writers and artists were a pleasure to work with.
> 
> I'm very thankful to Evy for betaing this, and also to Nee and everyone else who helped me with the French phrases. All remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Inspiration for the story comes from a variety of sources, especially: the Aubrey-Maturin books by Patrick O'Brien, the Hornblower tv series, Temeraire by Naomi Novik. Title is the English translation of an epithet used by Homer.

" _Où est la flotte japonaise?_ "

The prisoner shook his head and looked straight ahead at the distant horizon. He was bare-headed, having lost his hat in the chaos of battle, and the northwestern wind was ruffling his dark hair.

Christophe repeated the question. On the deck around them the sailors were running back and forth to fix the damage wrought by the enemy cannons. The ship hadn't suffered much – a couple of broken pennons, easily replaced, and a tear in the mainsail that was even now being sewn back together.

Viktor watched as Christophe's various questions were met with silence or vague denials. So far the prisoner had offered them little more than his name and rank. If Viktor hadn't known any better, he would have thought the man was afraid. But the man standing meekly in front of them was the same one who'd fought them like a fury when his ship had been boarded. Despite being outnumbered two to one by the Franco-Russian coalition, the Japanese captain had surrendered his sword only after being promised that all his men would be spared.

"He won't tell us anything of use." Christophe turned aside to address Viktor in Russian, speaking low so the rest of the crew wouldn't hear. "He claims he doesn't know where the Japanese fleet is, even though his ship was clearly headed to join them before we intercepted her."

"No," Viktor agreed. "He seems far too honourable to betray his country, this Junior Captain Katsuki Yuuri." His tongue stumbled over the foreign syllables.

Christophe hummed. "Perhaps if we were to promise him his freedom?" He called out the question in French. " _Dites-nous où se trouve la flotte et nous vous rendrons votre liberté._ "

Katsuki Yuuri shook his head. His eyes darted to Viktor's face before fixing on the horizon again. " _Je ne sais rien._ " His voice had a strong accent but the words were clear.

Viktor tucked a stray lock back behind his ear. His hair was in wild disarray after the chaos of battle. "If he won't say anything we'll have to keep him prisoner until we reach the next port in Kamchatka and he can be ransomed. Assuming the Japanese will bother to ransom a junior captain, that is."

There had been tales of a rift growing between the emperor and his feudal lords, so the handsome man might end up spending the next several years in a cell – an unfortunate waste, for someone so young and brave.

Christophe repeated the offer. “ _Si vous ne parlez pas, nous ne pouvons pas vous aider._ ”

Katsuki Yuuri merely bowed in acquiescence.

Viktor sighed. "Is that all? Ask him something else. What's the name of his hometown? How old is he? Is Yuuri his surname or his given name?"

Christophe scratched the stubble that was already growing on his cheek despite regulations. "How do those questions help the navy of Great Mother Russia?"

"They don't – I just like the sound of his voice."

Christophe's burst of laughter caused a couple of nearby midshipmen to cast them a curious look. Only Katsuki Yuuri looked straight ahead, even though he must have known that they were talking about him.

" _Mon ami_ ," Christophe said with a shake of his head, "God knows I don't disapprove of flirting but you will have to do it by yourself this time."

Viktor took a couple of steps forward. " _Voulez-vous dîner avec moi?_ "

The Japanese captain looked startled.

Christophe laughed again. "Are you asking me or him?"

"Him, of course." Viktor flashed the man a smile and a wink before turning around. "Although you're welcome to stay and translate if you want. My French is _très mauvais_."

"You shall have to make do, my dear. We set sail within the hour to take the prize to Vancouver."

"Too bad." Viktor smiled. "I'll renew my offer when next we meet."

Christophe nodded. "I'll look forward to it. Just don't get yourself killed; I've heard of pirates cruising in those waters."

Viktor dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "They'll flee at the mention of my name. Mr Plisetsky!" Viktor raised his voice to hail one of his lieutenants. "Prepare the dinghy and escort Captain Giacometti back to his ship."

"Aye aye, captain!"

Viktor and Christophe clasped hands in farewell. "I'm serious," Christophe murmured under his breath. "Don't do anything stupid: no matter how handsome he is, he's still your prisoner…"

"When have you ever known me to do anything stupid?"

At that, Christophe merely raised one eyebrow and shook his head. "Godspeed, Nikiforov."

Viktor waited until Christophe was in the dinghy and his men started to row towards the second ship anchored a few cable lengths away from his own. Then he turned to the Japanese man who still stood, unmoving, on the deck.

"So how about dinner, _capitaine_ Yuuri?"

⚓️⛵️

_Dearest Sara,_

_We have finally made port and I am rushing to write to you so I can send the letter with the next post boat. How I wish our next destination was your beautiful Gulf of Naples! Alas, the war in the Pacific still rages on._

_By the time you receive this, you might have heard that there have been several battles at sea. Pray do not distress yourself – I am quite unharmed and the medal of St Anthony that you gave me will keep me safe until I return to you. I know I said Russians don't believe in such things but…_

"Are you writing to your _contessa_ again?"

Mila turned in her seat and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the most junior lieutenant. "Mr Plisetsky, it's not gentlemanly to pry."

"Apologies, Mr Babichev," said Plisetsky, without sounding apologetic at all. He turned back to his card game against Altin. "I didn't think it a secret, what with you being engaged to be married."

The words made Mila smile. It had been Sara's idea to invent a long-distance engagement to stop her brother from marrying her off, and while Mila had been happy to help by playing the part of the fiancé, little by little their friendship grew into something more and the ruse became reality. It was risky to marry Sara, for no clergyman on land or sea would celebrate the wedding knowing the truth, but surely no riskier than dressing as a man to join the navy.

The door to the lieutenants' sitting room slammed open and First Lieutenant Georgi Popovich marched in. "You won't believe what happened!"

The tiny sitting room was very cramped with all four of them crowding in it. Mila shifted her chair towards the wall to make more room. "Pray, tell us. Does it concern Anya?"

"If only." Popovich pressed a hand to his brow. "I haven't heard from her since she jilted me. No, this is much worse: it's about the captain."

Mila huffed as she tried to blot out the fresh ink of her letter. "What about him? Hasn't he gone to deliver the prisoner to the port authorities?"

"That's just it – he's refusing to hand him over. I had it from the bosun."

Mila's eyebrows went up. Popovich might be prone to dramatic exaggerations, but the bosun Mr Feltsman was extremely reliable. Plisetsky and Altin also froze mid-play and turned around. Popovich, now commanding the room's full attention, perched on the arm of Mila's chair to tell his story.

"Captain Nikiforov heard that the fishing villages in the region are under attack from a most nefarious pirate ship. The captain thinks the pirates might grow even bolder and attack the port, and so he refuses to leave the prisoner here."

"But– That's –!" Mila stammered, then held her tongue. It would not do to badmouth the captain in front of her peers. Popovich wouldn't report her even though he outranked her, and Altin mostly minded his own business, but Plisetsky was badly in need of a good moral example. God knew his language was foul enough. "I'm sure Captain Nikiforov knows best," Mila managed to say. "Even though the port is fortified to withstand a pirate attack."

"My thoughts exactly," Popovich nodded. "It would be safer for anyone to stay in port than to sail out and risk encountering those marauders on the open sea."

Plisetsky huffed. "Never mind that. Why does old Viktor care if the Japanese man gets carried off by pirates? It's not as if he's worth ransoming!"

"Likely the captain had his reasons," Mila said, but she was unconvinced. Even though he was a decorated hero, Nikiforov acted in an unpredictable and lackadaisical way. It was impossible to guess what went through his head.

Altin frowned down at the cards on the table. "Does this mean Captain Nikiforov is going to keep commandeering the chessboard for himself and Captain Katsuki?"

"I don't mind playing écarté," said Plisetsky. He tossed down his last card and smirked. "By the by, I believe that's the vole. Five tricks to me – two points."

Altin groaned and marked the points on the scoreboard. "I don't know why I keep playing with you. Another hand?"

Plisetsky started gathering the cards and shuffling them. "We could play whist if there's four of us. What say you, Mr Babichev? Mr Popovich?"

Mila glanced down at the letter. With everything that was going on, she could use the distraction. "Why not? Give me but a minute to finish writing."

"Very well." Popovich pulled out a chair. "We shall now see the truth of the proverb _unlucky in love, lucky at cards_ …"

⚓️⛵️

The candle inside the bullseye lantern fluttered as a wave hit the side of the ship. Otabek steadied the lantern so that the flame wouldn't go out and glanced out of the window.

The night was pitch black and he could see no ship on the horizon, yet he knew that the pirate sloop was cruising somewhere in the vicinity. It had been tracking them for the past two days, using its superior speed to circle them and force their slower galleon to take a southerly route. No more, the captain had said. If the sloop was still there come morning, they would give battle.

"We should sleep," Otabek said, as he had several times already. Yuri nodded. Neither of them moved.

It was too dark to play cards and the last of the wine was long gone, yet Otabek didn't feel like going to bed. The thought of the upcoming battle was like the crackle of electricity in the air during a storm; it made him wide awake and alert despite the late hour.

"Are you nervous, Altin?" Yuri's head was lowered and he was poking at a knot of wood on the table.

Otabek considered the question. "I'm not. Those pirates are vicious, by all accounts, but the prospect of battle never scared me." At that, Yuri nodded. "What about you?"

Yuri gave a small shrug. He had grown taller again – his shoulders pulled at the fabric of his blue coat. "It's not my first time going into battle."

"You were never in the middle of the fray as a midshipman," Otabek pointed out, "and when we faced the Japanese you were belowdecks with the cannons. That is quite different from boarding an enemy ship."

"I'm not nervous." Yuri's voice was sharper that the usual tone he used with Otabek. His fingers curled and uncurled into a fist.

"Plisetsky… It's quite normal to be afraid of death. It's not cowardice, it's just being human."

Yuri shook his head. His hair shone like burnished gold in the low light. "That's not it. I'm not afraid, truly. It's just that…" Yuri trailed off and raised his eyes to Otabek's. "I suppose there is one thing I'm afraid of."

"Go on." The ship was entirely silent, save for the waves breaking upon the sides and the low creaking of the masts.

"I don't want to have any regrets," Yuri said. "Should anything happen to either of us."

Otabek longed to reassure him, but he couldn't truthfully promise that they would be safe, nor was Yuri a child to be placated with empty words. "What is it that you would regret?" he asked instead.

Yuri hesitated. "I–" His breath hitched and he stopped, but he scooted his chair closer to Otabek.

"Yuri?" The first name, so rarely used, felt familiar on Otabek's lips.

The candlelight cast deep shadows on Yuri's pale skin and his expression was unreadable. Otabek knew what was going to happen when Yuri leaned in, yet he didn't push him away. Their lips met. Yuri tasted like the wine they'd both been drinking, like night wind and sea spray.

It was over far too quickly. Yuri pulled back and offered him a shy smile. His eyes were half closed and despite the darkness Otabek could swear he could see a faint blush on his cheeks. He himself felt his face flushing crimson.

He longed to wrap his arms around Yuri and never let go. Instead he said, "Don't do this. We can't."

Yuri put one hand on Otabek's chest. His fingers brushed the fabric of his shirt. "You don't want to…?"

Otabek gave a shaky exhale. He wanted so much, it was a miracle the truth of his feelings weren't written on his face for all the world to see. He'd wanted Yuri for half his life, since the first time they met, two midshipmen from different ships.

"It's too dangerous." Otabek put his hand over Yuri's, to stop him from trying to untie his cravat. His voice was below a whisper, so he had to lean close to make himself heard. "If we're found out, we'll both be ruined."

Yuri shook his head. "We're about to go into battle," he murmured. "I'm not afraid of a court martial. The only thing I fear is losing you, or not ever…"

Their lips crashed together. Otabek pulled Yuri closer and clung to him like a drowning man. "Don't say it," he said in between kisses, "don't even say it." He didn't want to think about what might happen tomorrow – didn't want to think about anything but the warmth of Yuri's body as they pressed to each other.

Yuri leaned their foreheads together. "Stay with me until morning?"

⚓️⛵️

"Fire!"

Captain Nikiforov's command was almost drowned out by the sound of a dozen cannons discharging all at once. Some of the projectiles hit the smaller ship, smashing holes in her sides; several pirates screamed as the mast swayed and fell down.

Yuuri winced. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of blood mixed with gunpowder threatened to choke him. He knew he shouldn't be on the deck but everyone was too busy to pay him any attention and he hated being confined to his cabin with no idea of what was happening above.

A cry went up next to him. Yuuri turned around just in time to see Lieutenant Plisetsky stumble back and drop his sword. His shoulder was stained crimson with blood.

Yuuri leapt forward and caught him before he fell, dragging him to safety behind a pile of barrels. It looked like a gunshot wound; the ball had missed all vital organs but was still lodged against the bone.

It had to be painful, but Plisetsky still tried to push him away. "You can't be here. Get back to your cabin, prisoner!"

Blood seeped from between Yuuri's fingers as he tried to staunch the bleeding. He didn't know how to say _put pressure on the wound_ in Russian or French, so he just did it. Plisetsky grimaced. His face was ashen as he sat heavily on a coil of rope.

Someone called his name. He turned around but Altin brushed past him, his eyes fixed on Plisetsky, and went down on one knee next to him.

"I'm fine," Plisetsky managed to say.

Altin tore the cravat from his neck and pressed it against the wound. At once, the white linen turned crimson. "You need to get to the surgeon. Where is he?"

The door behind them slammed open. Yuuri jumped, but it was only Lieutenant Babichev, his face and hands stained black and reeking of gunpowder and iron.

"Captain!" he cried. "Two of the cannons are disabled. What are your orders?"

Nikiforov stepped behind the cover of a makeshift barricade as he reloaded his pistols. "Keep shooting whatever you have, Mr Babichev. Everyone else!" He cupped one hand around his mouth. His voice carried over the noise of the battle. "Prepare to go over. Mr Popovich, stand ready with the grappling hooks!"

For several long moments, Yuuri stood staring at him in horror. "You want to board their ship?" he managed to say in his broken Russian. "But– but– they're shooting at us!"

Nikiforov turned and gave him one of his dazzling smiles. "Fear not, my dear. We shall shoot back."

Yuuri turned to look at the carnage on the deck. "Your men are going to die."

"My men are dying now." A cloud passed on Nikiforov's face. "The longer this fight continues, the greater the losses. I have to take that ship _now_. This is like chess: I have to sacrifice some pawns to capture the queen."

Except it wasn't like chess, not at all. How could he be so flippant about his men's lives? Yuuri struggled to form his words into a sentence, then he met Nikiforov's eyes and knew. "You're going over too."

Nikiforov didn't reply. "All men who can still fight," he cried, "to me!"

Plisetsky struggled to push himself to his feet and only Altin's arm under his shoulders stopped him from swaying sideways. "My sword…"

"Not you, Mr Plisetsky." Nikiforov's voice was not unkind. "I need you here. You have the bridge while I'm gone."

Plisetsky pursed his lips and nodded. "Aye, captain." He wanted to fight, that was plain to see, but it was taking him a great deal of effort to even stand. Altin handed him one of his own pistols before hurrying to join Popovich and the rest of the crew.

Yuuri stared at the pirate ship. The main mast and several of the pennons were broken, but the enemy gunners were still keeping up their fire. The smoke from the cannons wreathed both ships, blotting out the sun. It was impossible for Yuuri not to tremble as he remembered the last time he'd fought, when he'd been outmanoeuvred and overpowered and forced to surrender. And yet Nikiforov drew his sword and strode forward as if defeat was not a possible option.

"Let me fight," someone said. Yuuri was startled to realise that the voice was his own. Nikiforov and several men turned to look at him. Yuuri steeled himself. "Please, give me a sword! I can fight too."

Plisetsky spoke first. "You're our enemy. Why should we give you a weapon?"

"You're under no obligation to fight," Nikiforov said. "This is not your battle."

It was, though. If the ship were taken, Yuuri doubted that the pirates would care that he'd been a prisoner. Besides, no matter how much he was terrified of failing again, he'd sailed with these Russians long enough to get to know them. He couldn't stand back and watch as they went to their deaths. Yuuri held out one hand. "Give me a sword."

"You can't!" Plisetsky exclaimed.

Nikiforov flashed him a smile and offered him his own sword. "Let's go, Katsuki-dono." He paused only to pick up Plisetsky's discarded sword before motioning for the men to follow. "Everyone with me!"

His sword was heavy in Yuuri's hand, heavier than the ones Yuuri was used to. He gripped it hard enough that his knuckles went white. With a wordless scream he followed Nikiforov over the top.

⚓️⛵️

The ceremony was brief. Viktor, for once in a sombre mood, read a page from the Bible and said a few words. The hammocks containing the bodies – weighted down with one cannonball each – were sewn shut. One by one all the casualties of the battle were dropped overboard and consigned to the abyss.

Yuri stood between the other two lieutenants through all of it, refusing to sit even though he felt rather light-headed and feared his wound might have reopened. Though he couldn't salute with his arm in a sling, he stood up straighter when the captain approached.

"Gentlemen." Viktor nodded at the three of them. "I commend you on a job well done. You all fought admirably and I'll be sure to mention your actions in my next dispatch."

Yuri shook his head and turned aside, avoiding Otabek's eyes. "I did nothing."

"Thank you, captain," Otabek said. His face was expressionless.

The wound in Yuri's shoulder throbbed. Yuri wished he could go and lie down, but Viktor wasn't done yet.

"I've no doubt that Mr Popovich will get his own command, when he delivers the prize to the admiralty, which means that we're short one lieutenant." He winked. "Mr Babichev, I'm promoting you to Acting First Lieutenant."

Babichev blinked. "Thank you. I won't let you down, captain!"

"Congratulations," Yuri murmured. The deck spun under his feet. He thought he would fall again, but Otabek was next to him and caught him before he did, slipping one arm around Yuri's shoulder and the other under his elbow.

"Will you excuse us, Captain, Mr Babichev?" Without waiting for an answer, he steered Yuri safely to a quiet corner of the ship. Yuri leaned heavily against him and caught his breath. "Yuri," Otabek said in a low voice, "you should be in bed."

Yuri shook his head. "I had to at least say goodbye to our fallen comrades, since I was too weak to fight."

"You were shot." The intensity of Otabek's stare belied his calm tone. "That's not weakness."

"I stayed behind – I could hardly bear to watch when you boarded that ship."

Otabek's eyes darted around. "Careful. We might be overheard."

"I cannot hold my tongue!" It took effort for Yuri to keep his voice level. "It's all I've been thinking of: that I was useless, and if anything had happened to you…"

" _Yuri_. When I saw you fall, I thought my heart would stop."

The desperation in Otabek's voice was so startling and uncharacteristic that Yuri didn't know how to respond. If they'd been anywhere else but the deck of a busy ship, he would have leaned over and kissed him. Instead he had to content himself with leaning against him.

"I'm well." Yuri spoke gruffly to cover the hitch at the back of his throat. "Truly."

"I know." Otabek gave Yuri's fingers a brief squeeze. "But I can't protect you in battle, any more than you can protect me. All we can do is our best."

They stood side by side for a long time, listening to the shouts of the sailors and the creaking of the sails overhead. The waves crashed against the prow. Slowly, the knot in Yuri's throat eased and the back of his eyes stopped prickling.

On the bridge, Viktor was talking to Katsuki again, gesticulating wildly to compensate for the language barrier. Yuri supposed there was no way to get rid of him now, not after he'd fought with them against the pirates. He had fought well, though. Maybe he wasn't as useless as Yuri had originally thought, maybe that was why Viktor wanted to keep him around. As Yuri watched, Viktor threw back his head and laughed.

"Come on," Otabek said, "let's get you back to your cabin."

"In a moment." Yuri pressed their shoulders together. "It's peaceful here."

They stood side by side as the sun went down and the ship sailed over the wine-dark sea.


End file.
